The burning of my lungs didn't subside until after I had exited the showers. Unfortunately, the cold water did nothing to ease the pounding in my head. Tuesday's game had been rough and Coach Miller had us bag skating until we couldn't keep down our dinners from the night before. I wanted to throw my head against the wall––not only because of the headache, but because of the frustrating losing streak we'd been on.
At this rate, any NHL team that had shown interest in me over the last couple of years was going to rescind their offers. I couldn't put my finger on what had changed over the summer, but the Fenton Falcons weren't competing at the level we once were. The team was getting sloppy––making rookie mistakes that guys wouldn't make in a Sunday morning Men's League.
And Coach Miller was going to have our asses for it.
The locker room lacked its usual buzz of camaraderie as I made my way back towards the benches with a towel around my waist. Resentment was rearing its ugly little head within most of my teammates. Cole, the enforcer on the Falcons, changed in the corner. On a good day, he didn't talk much, but the hard angles of his face were pinched in a way that I thought he might crack his jaw from how hard it was clenched.
Having been pulled aside after practice, Hendrix had been the last to enter the locker room. He was still hunched in the same spot on the bench as when I left for the showers. The practice jersey was still plastered over his padding. Distraught, he ran his hands through his short blond hair. Out of everyone, he was probably taking our most recent loss the hardest. Especially when the university newspaper was stating that he was an 'encumbrance to the team'.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Then there was the pressure of him being assistant captain. Which, I'm sure, made the losing streak we were on that much more unbearable.
During our Sophomore year, Hendrix had managed to secure the A on his jersey. While some guys on the team were still sour about McKinley being named captain the minute he joined the roster, no one would dispute our goalie being deserving of his title. Hendrix would be the first one at practice and the last one to leave. He was that guy. Someone the rest of the boys could rely on if they were in a tough spot––both on and off the ice. Hell, even Coach Miller, our very own dictator, would ask Hendrix about what he thought about certain plays during video review.
And once he was in net, Hendrix Tate was a force to be reckoned with. There was no one more qualified.
But things were different this year and even he was beginning to notice it.
My tongue twisted before darting out between my lips as I searched around for either one of my more sentimental teammates. Sappy shit was above my capabilities and I normally left it to McKinley or Booker to deal with.
Of course, neither one of them were in sight.
I sighed, making my way over to the sulking giant with a forced smile plastered to my face. A ball of discomfort wedged its way into my chest, but I swallowed it down. We were teammates whether we were on or off of the ice.
Fixing the front of my towel, I plopped down on the bench beside him. "Aren't you glad Booker didn't get you to make us breakfast this morning?"
The grin I gave him wasn't returned. Hendrix did little to acknowledge my presence at all. His midnight blue eyes were casted downwards as he kicked his foot out, tapping the back of his skate into the floor.
"What did Coach say to you after practice?"
When he winced I wished I would have simply gotten changed and kept my mouth shut. It was as if he was experiencing the memory all over again.
YOU ARE READING
Breaking The Rules
RomanceBook 3 of the Fenton Falcon Series When Celeste's relationship comes to an abrupt end she's left without a roof over her head and no idea where to go. That is, until she's offered the most unexpected place to stay: Fenton University's renown Hockey...